A Boy, A Girl, And A Stolen Chevy
by softballchick31096
Summary: He knew who took his baby. It was the chick at the bar that left him hanging. He knew his life wasn't going to be the same again. The car was one of a kind. He knew if he ever got his hands on the chick that stole his car, he'd make her pay. But, he didn't know how to react when she showed up at Bobby's. FIRST FANFIC! RATED: T FOR LATER CHAPTERS
1. Prologue

It was a rare night for the Winchesters. It was a night off.

Dean Winchester couldn't picture a better place to celebrate the conclusion to their last case than a bar filled with pretty ladies playing the greatest music known to man. With a cold drink in his hand, the oldest Winchester had pretty much spent the entire night watching the woman playing pool. He watched the way she turn away every guy who tried to buy her a drink and beat anyone who was lucky enough to be invited to the pool game; just the type of girl Dean Winchester liked. She tossed her long, dark brown curls over her shoulder, sneaking another glance at him with her icy blue eyes.

"So are you going to talk to her or just stare at her like an idiot?" Sam wondered, looking up from his laptop.

"I'm waiting for the perfect moment to make my move, which is more than you're doing Sammy," Dean announced, taking another sip from his beer. Sam rolled his eyes and continued to type away. Turning back to the pool table, Dean spotted the woman, pool stick in hand, putting a few quarters into the jukebox. Expecting some recent pop song, he rolled his eyes in advanced. Imagine the surprise on his face when "You're the Only Hell Your Mama Ever Raised" by Warrant started playing throughout the bar. The woman sauntered back to the pool table, swinging her hips to the rhythm, lining up her next shot. It was time for Dean to make his move.

"You know, I expected you some pop song when I saw you at the jukebox," he grinned, approaching the woman. She smiled to herself and stood up.

"Do I look like I'm three? Besides, you saw me way before that," she replied, brushing past Dean to get a new angle on the shot.

"So you've been watching me, then, huh?" he said. The woman sunk the eight ball, before turning to face him.

"Okay, you got me," she laughed. "Name's Jessie."

"Dean. Dean Winchester," Dean introduced, shaking the hand she held out to him.

"Well, Winchester, here's the deal. I have to go to the little ladies room, when I come back we can start a new game if you're interested," Jessie smiled, snaking her fingers into his belt loop.

"Sure thing," Dean replied, not able to hold back his smile. He watched Jessie as she disappeared into the back of the bar and couldn't help but nod at Sammy, who was still typing on his laptop. It was always easy for him to get the girl for a night, and, if he was lucky enough, he could get them to come back for a second time. Only, Jessie didn't come back.

"Face it dude, maybe you aren't as good with the ladies as you thought," Sam laughed. Dean just snarled at his brother. It had been 30 minutes since Jessie had left him hanging at the pool table and Sam was still laughing at his misfortune.

"Shut up, Sammy, at least I talked to one," Dean retorted as the brothers walked into the parking lot. A terrifying sight stopped Dean in his tracks. "Sammy, where's my car?"

"Didn't you park it over there?" Sam said, pointing to an empty parking spot.

"Sam, where's my car?" Dean repeated. He frantically patted his empty jean pockets for the keys he just realized he didn't have. "Sam, someone stole my car. Someone stole my car!" Dean shouted, before he started hyperventilating.

"Whoa, Dean, calm down," the younger Winchester warned.

"I will not calm down, somebody stole my freaking car!" Dean shouted louder. His mind flashback to when Jessie had her hands looped around his belt; she was the only one remotely close enough to steal his keys. "Bitch stole my car!"

Jessie grinned as the 1967 Chevy Impala bounced down the highway with its stereo at full blast. The wind rushed through her hair as she sang along to Kansas's hit song.

"Carry on my Wayward Son! There'll be peace when you are down, lay your weary head to rest! Don't you cry no more!"


	2. The Reunion

"So where's Dean?" Bobby asked, walking into the kitchen where Sam flipped through an old book on folklore.

"Same place he's been for the past week," Sam replied. It had been a full week since the Winchester's run in with Jessie back at the southern bar and ever since then Dean hasn't come out of his "room" except to grab a slice of pizza before slinking back under the covers.

"Well, he needs to snap out of it soon. I got an old friend coming over and his crying in his room is going to make me look bad," Bobby explained, doing the best he could to straightening up the cluttered desk.

"The Impala meant a lot to him," Sam sighed. "It meant a lot to all of us."

An hour later, Sam had finally convinced Dean to come out of his room and watch old reruns of the Simpsons in the living room, when the heard a car pull up to the house. Bobby jumped over to the door to peek outside.

"Holy shit," he cursed. Dean peeled his eyes away from the television to see what Bobby was looking at. With the door opened, he could see out his baby, the one stolen from him a week prior, parked in front of the door. Dropping his empty bottle of beer to the ground, Dean was outside before Sam could react. Jessie climbed out of the Impala with a large smile on her face.

"Hey Bobby," she grinned, before watching Dean storm up to her.

"You bitch! What the hell are you doing here!? You better not have scratched my baby!" he shouted all at once. Jessie immediately recognized him from the bar and quickly jumped around to the other side of the car, keeping her distance from Dean.

"What the hell are you doing here!?" Jessie demanded.

"Me? I could be asking you the same thing! Why the frick would you steal my car!? I should strangle you right now!"

"Whoa, Dean, calm down. The car's back and it's all fine," Sam said frantically, trying to keep his brother from strangling the woman.

"I see you guys met before," Bobby said, strolling out to the group.

"She's the bitch that stole my car!" Dean screamed. Sam attempted to calm him down before he started hyperventilating again.

"Hey, I just needed a ride," Jessie explained.

"Then you ride a bus, walk, anything—dammit! But, no you had to steal my freaking car! Give me the keys right now!" Dean screeched, breaking free of Sam's grasp. He lunged at the woman; he was so blind with fury that it never crossed his mind that he might hurt the woman.

"Whoa there, cowboy," Jessie said, dodging Dean's attack. She grabbed ahold of his wrist, pinning him against the Impala, twisting his arm behind his back to that he couldn't move. "I'm not giving you squat. I stole the car fair and square."

"Fair and square my ass! Give me my keys! Bobby!" Dean demanded.

"Jessie, give him his keys back. You can have any car from the lot," Bobby sighed, wanting to resolve this predicament as soon as possible.

"Fine," Jessie groaned, letting go of Dean, she pulled the keys out of her pocket. In a blink of an eye, Dean swiped the keys from her open palm and gave a cold hard stare at Jesse.

"Touch my baby again and I will kill you," he growled.

"Easy, Dean, easy," Sam soothed, pulling his older brother out of the woman's face.

"Well, this certainly isn't the homecoming I was expecting," Jessie said, rolling his eyes.

"It's nice to have you back, kid," Bobby smiled, taking the woman into a huge bear hug.

"You too, Bobby," Jessie grinned.

"So, I assume you've already met Sam and Dean?" he wondered, pointing to the brothers.

"Apparently, you should keep a better eye on your keys," Jessie winked at Dean, before following Bobby into the house. Dean watched as her hips swung from side to side and tightened his grip on his keys.

"I'm going to kill her," he growled.

"Or sleep with her," Sam suggested.

"Bitch stole my car!" Dean stated.

"Yeah, and you just drooled over her ass," the younger Winchester chuckled.

"Man, shut up!"


	3. Fine!

For the past hour, Dean had listened to Jessie and Bobby talk about almost every topic known to man; from old friends to her latest hunt, apparently the angry ghost of a murder victim was terrorizing the children of its killer. Dean was never said a word as he finished the last of his six-pack. He wasn't about to let this Jessie-girl out of his sight in case she tried to mess with his baby again.

"You seriously stole a cop car?" Sam asked, dumbfounded, after hearing about how Jessie escaped the police after a run-in with a shape-shifter. Dean had a deja vu moment while listening to her.

"Yeah, I needed a way out of the state. It worked," Jessie grinned.

"Wow," the younger Winchester smiled, deliberatly staring at his older brother. Apparently, Sammy thought she was just a bundle of joy. Bobby took a swig of his beer before getting up to throw away the bottle. "So how did you run into Bobby?" Sam wondered.

"Bobby saved my life," Jessie answered. "I was young and stupid and got in way over my head; Bobby showed up just in time."

"What exactly happened?" Dean asked, setting his beer on the counter before crossing his arms.

"Oh, he speaks," the woman laughed. She tapped against the table and stood up.

"You never really told me why you were back in town," Bobby pointed out.

"Finished a job, decided I could come see an old friend," Jessie grinned, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. She hadn't had a single beer all night. Dean rolled his eyes.

"You a lightweight or something?" he grumbled. Bobby and Jessie shared a huge grin before Bobby's phone began ringing.

"Yeah?" the older man demanded. "Yep...sounds like it...Mhm...I'll send the boys over in the morning...Bye."

"We have a job?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, Ellen called and said that there was a hunter at the Roadhouse talking about some strange deaths in a small town in Maryland. I told her I would send you guys up to the Old-Line State in the morning," Bobby explained.

"It'll be good to get back on the road," Dean announced.

"Oh, can I come?" Jessie asked, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

"No," Dean snapped instantly.

At the same time Sam answered, "Yes."

"Sam!"

"Dean, it wouldn't hurt to have her along," Sam added.

"She. Stole. My. Car!"

"I'm willing to put that behind us," Jessie sighed, placing a hand on Dean's shoulder. "I'm taking it off," she said after recieving a dirty look.

"Dean, the stupid car is back and completely fine. Get over it," Bobby scolded. Dean let out a gruff sigh and crossed his arms over his chest. "Dean," Bobby growled. Sam looked up at his older brother with those puppy-dog eyes that Dean couldn't say 'no' too; he glanced over at Jessie, who pursed her lips in a pout that Dean could only define as 'cute,' much to his dismay.

"Fine!" he yelled, throwing his hands up in the air. "You can come with us, but you never touch the keys and it's my music the entire way there! I don't want to hear a peep out of you," Dean said, pointing his finger at Jessie, who smiled.

"I don't think the music will be a problem, you can learn alot about somebody from what they keep in their car," she explained, grinning at Dean on her way out of the room.

_"What did I get myself into?" _Dean thought.


	4. Home Sweet Home

"Sammy, wake up," Dean ordered, shaking his brother awake. Sam's eyes blinked open to see Dean looming over him, fully dressed.

"Dean, what the hell? It's 4 in the morning, we agreed not to leave until 6," Sam complained, checking the clock next to his bed.

"Yeah, I changed the time. Get up," the older Winchester growled. Against his better judgment, Sam rolled out of bed and quickly got dressed. Once he was done, he and Dean walked down into the kitchen to grab a something to eat before they left. Dean obviously wanted to leave before Jessie awoke so he didn't have to take her with them, but his plans were foiled to see her digging through the fridge.

"Up already boys?" she asked, shutting the door.

"Dammit," Dean muttered. "What are you doing up?"

"Eh, I could ask you the same thing," Jessie sighed. She was fully dressed in an oversized plaid shirt, jeans, and brown boots with a beer bottle in her hand. "You weren't trying to leave without me were you?"

"No," Sam said, giving his brother a dirty look. "We just couldn't sleep."

"Yeah, the economy is just terrible," Dean added sarcastically. Jessie gave him a small smile and placed the half-empty bottle on the counter.

"Well, since we're up let's hit the road," she announced, squeezing past Dean to reach the front door.

"Since when do you call the shots?" he demanded.

"Since I have the keys," Jessie grinned, dangling his keys from her index finger. Before Dean could explode, she tossed them back to him. "Now let's go," she called, walking out to the Impala. Sam was half asleep, but was pretty sure he saw that correctly.

"Did she just strip you of your keys for a second time?" he asked, just to make sure. Dean grabbed his younger brother and shoved him towards the door.

"Man, shut up."

Apparently the whole "we're listening to my music the entire way" didn't have quite the effect that Dean wanted; he hadn't counted on the fact that Jessie's taste in music matched his and, as much as he wanted to make her regret coming on the hunt with them, he couldn't bear to change the stations to something else.

"I know a secret down in Uncle Tom's Cabin; I know a secret that I just can't tell. I know a secret down in Uncle Tom's Cabin, I know who put the bodies in the wishing well," Jessie sang from the backseat. She had her nose buried in a leather-bound book, much like Sam when he was reading their fathers journal. If it wasn't for the singing or the occasional page turn, Dean would have thought Jessie had died. He didn't want to admit that the ride wasn't as bad as he would have thought. Driving nonstop, they arrived in Maryland faster than they had predicted and crossed over to the Eastern Shore within the hour. "Make a U-turn here and then get off on Winchester Road," Jessie instructed, speaking up for the first time the entire drive.

"Why?" Dean asked.

"Winchester Road?" Sam wondered.

"The Chesapeake Motel is back there—and yes, there is a street involving your last name," Jessie explained. "I figured we could unload there, Sam could do his magic on the computer and find news on the mysterious deaths that Ellen was talking about."

"Hey, I do the 'figuring' around here," Dean mumbled, yet still he made the U-turn and pulled up on the Motel.

"Hey, Jessie, how'd you know the motel was back here," Sam questioned, noticing that the motel was right next to the highway, but involved prior knowledge of how to get on Winchester Road to gain access to it.

"Because there's no place like home," Jessie sighed.

* * *

I just wanted to say, "Thank You" to everyone who reviewed this story. I know it's starting a bit slow, but it will pickup soon! I promise!


	5. A Beautiful Nightmare

"Stay here and don't touch anything," Jessie snarled, mimicking what Dean had told her earlier. By the time they had checked into the motel, Sam had located the relatives of the first victim, who was found, hanged, last week. Suicide. Ellen was normally good about sorting out the mundane deaths, but Jessie still wasn't completely sure if it was a job for them; there was nothing about the suicide in the news clippings that she found from the papers in the front office of the motel. Dean had left with Sam a few hours earlier to question the victim's family, leaving Jessie with strict instructions to "not touch anything." Throwing herself onto the one of two beds, she stared at the ceiling. Images of fleeting memories danced behind her eyes. Slowly, Jessie closed her eyes and allowed herself to slip into. She saw a grinning teenage girl with long blonde hair, standing in the middle of a large field.

"Jessie," the girl called out. "Watch this!" The girl executed a perfect cartwheel. "Bet'cha can't do that!"

"No, I can't," Jessie laughed. The girl's smile split her face in half. Then, the sky grew darker before Jessie could react and lightning cut through the dark clouds as the wind began to howl.

"Jessie?" the girl asked her voice a bit shaky.

"Come on, let's go," Jessie ordered, looking around for a place to take shelter from the sudden storm. She turned back around to see the teenager was gone. "Grace?"

"You left me," the teenager's voice announced from nowhere.

"Grace!" Jessie screamed.

"You left me. You left me to die."

"Grace, I'm sorry!" Jessie shouted towards the sky, tears threatening to spill down her face.

"It's your fault, Jessie," the voice echoed through the valley. "Jessie."

"Jessie!"

Jessie was awakened by someone roughly shaking her shoulder. Once she was able to wrap her mind around the fact that she was still in the motel room, she saw that Dean was the one leaning over her.

"You were screaming," he stated, something hidden behind his voice that she couldn't identify.

"Sorry," Jessie said, pushing him out of her way so she could sit up. "Where's Sam?" she added noticing the tall man's absence.

"Went to go get pizza."

"You didn't go with him?" Jessie wondered.

"I wanted to make sure you didn't burn the place down," Dean grinned slightly, moving to remove his tie. Jessie rolled her eyes and stood up.

"So, did you talk to the victim's family or what?" she demanded.

"Yeah—Henry Jackson was a 40 year old virgin, but a successful business owner. He ran a bookstore in town, he was found hanging in the back room. Family said there were no signs and his life was actually beginning to turn around. He found himself a girlfriend, ran into a bit of money, and was actually planning a trip to California," Dean explained while he was stripping out of his monkey suite. He still had on his pants and collared shirt; Jessie was contemplating on whether not she should ask him to stop if he continued to go any further. She hadn't decided yet.

"Well, suicidal people don't usual plan trips when they count on killing themselves before they go," she thought aloud.

"Exactly what we said, but there still is no sign that it's a job for us," Dean said, picking up a change of clothes and disappearing into the bathroom. Jessie had to admit she was a bit disappointed. He reemerged wearing an old Black Sabbath shirt and worn jeans, much more suitable than the suite.

"So, we're going to check out the body tomorrow?" Jessie asked.

"If you mean 'we' as in Sam and I, then yes: We are," Dean answered.

"Seriously? What's the point of bringing me if you were just going to keep me locked up in the motel room?" she demanded.

"Hey, should've thought about that before you stole my car," he growled.

"How long are you going to hold that against me?"

"How long are you planning on staying?"

"You're infuriating."

"You're…infuriating," Dean stuttered, throwing his clothes back into his bag. Jessie cocked her head to one side and pursed her lips.

"Nice comeback," she sighed, lying back down on the bed.

Dean watched the rise and fall of her chest as she let out long, steady breaths, much different than the short, ragged ones she was choking out when he walked through the door. He had expected to return to her bitching about how unfair it was for them to leave her alone, or for her to be gone with all their belongings; hell, he was even prepared for the entire building to be in flames. But, seeing her thrashing around on the bed like she was being attacked, he wasn't prepared for.

"Who's Grace?" Dean voiced before he realized he had said it. It was the name she was shouting when he walked in.

"What?" Jessie asked, her body visibly tensing.

"Grace, you kept saying, 'Grace, I'm sorry.' I was just wondering who this 'Grace' person is," he clarified. Jessie gave him a quick glance before returning her eyes to the ceiling.

"_Was_," she said.

"Hm?" Dean mumbled. Jessie was speaking so softly, he barely heard her.

"Was, Grace was my sister. She's dead now."


	6. I Like The Shirt

"I'm sorry," Dean whispered. Jessie shrugged and climbed to her feet.

"It happened a long time ago," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. She refused to look at Dean, who decided to drop the subject. Dean noticed how her whole posture changed. Her shoulders were hunched and she was messing with the necklace around her throat. He just stood there awkwardly, not know whether he was in any place to comfort her. Luckily just then, Sam walked through the door with a large pizza in hand, saving them from prolonged silence.

"Anyone hungry?" he asked.

"Starving," Jessie smiled, grabbing a slice from the box.

"It's just pepperoni, I didn't know what you liked," Sam explained.

"Dude, did you bring the pie?" Dean demanded, noticing his brother's hands were empty.

"Uh—no," he said in a small voice. Dean rolled his eyes, grabbing a slice of pizza and taking a large bite.

"You owe me pie," he growled.

The rest of the night was pretty quiet. After eating the whole pizza, the three of them settled down to their own corners. Sam was busy typing away at his computer to see if he could find any more information on Henry Jackson; Dean was sprawled out across the bed, flipping through the channels of the old TV before settling on Tom & Jerry. Jessie had excused herself to take a shower a few minutes earlier.

"Finding anything, Sammy?" Dean asked.

"No, Jackson was a normal guy. Nothing to suggest he'd want to kill himself," Sam replied.

"But, nothing that says this is a case of ours," the oldest Winchester pointed out.

"Not really, but I called Ellen because Bobby mentioned multiple deaths and she said that several other people took their lives. I looked into them and they're as clean as Jackson. No criminal records, no warning signs of depression, nothing. It's weird," Sam elaborated.

"Weird is right up our alley, but unless we find something serious we might just have to tell Ellen this is a bust," Jessie interjected, walking out of the bathroom. Steam curled out of the room behind her. She walked out in red cheerleader shorts and an Iron Maiden's Killer shirt. Dean felt his jaw drop slightly, but still regain enough control to keep it from being blatantly obvious.

"We'll still check out Jackson's body tomorrow, just in case," Sam replied, shutting his computer. "We should be getting to bed, it's getting late."

"Sure—Jessie, you can get the bed. I'll the couch," Dean said, rolling off the bed.

"Aw, I guess chivalry isn't dead," Jessie smiled.

"It's because I like the shirt, don't get ahead of yourself," he countered, throwing himself onto the couch.

Sam gave him a look that said, "Yeah, you were staring at the shirt." Knitting his fingers behind his head, Dean closed his eyes and was about to drift to sleep when something soft hit his face. He opened his eyes to see someone had tossed a blanket on top of him; Jessie was leaning on the top of the couch.

"In case you get cold. Motel rooms can be chilly," she said with a small smile.

"Well, I can just share the bed with you if I get cold," Dean grinned. "_I just said that?" _he asked in his head.

"Nice try, Romeo," Jessie laughed climbing back into bed. He watched her crawl beneath the huge comforter, and then noticed Sam watching them trying not to laugh.

_"That girl is going to kill me_," Dean thought as he wrapped the blanket around him.


	7. Burn Marks

"I'm not sure why you would want to look at the body, it seems like a cut-and-dry case," the medical examiner said, pulling out the steel drawer which held Henry Jackson's body covered by a white sheet.

"We're just making sure we investigate every possible…um, possibility," Jessie explained. The doctor raised an eyebrow quizzically. He looked like a rat and couldn't possibly be of legal drinking age. _"Damn, kid geniuses," _Jessie thought to herself. Just from the doctor's posture, she knew he would give them an attitude.

"What my partner is trying to say is our superior officers are a bit fickle," Dean clarified, clearing his throat. "Mr. Henry Jackson died of a…?"

"He hung himself. The bruising around the throat confirms that," the examiner pointed out, tracing a gloved hand around Jackson's neck.

"Was there any other bruising or injuries to suggest it might have been foul play?" Jessie wondered, fixing her skirt. When the trio awoke this morning, Jessie had convinced Dean to let her accompany him to the morgue while Sam tried to dig deeper into Jackson's history; that meant Jessie had to break out the old "professional" outfit and heels.

"Mam, I know you're doing your job but there is nothing to suggest foul play," the medical examiner sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Doctor Perry, just answer the question," Dean growled, trying to keep his cool. Perry shuffled his feet and scratched the back of his head.

"Look, I didn't put it in the report because I didn't think anything of it, but when the other 'suicides' started flooding in here—I don't know, man," Perry stuttered.

"You don't know what?" Jessie asked, tapping her heel against the ground. Perry grabbed the man's right hand and flipped it over so the palm was facing them. There was a large burn across the palm of Jackson's hand.

"Everybody who came in here and died from self-inflicted wounds had the same burn on the left hand. Can't be coincidence, right? I tried to tell the police, but they said it was just that—a coincidence," Perry explained. Jessie and Dean shared a look before returning their eyes to the examiner.

"All the victims had the same burn? Do you know what caused it?" Dean demanded.

"Something hot," Perry answered.

"How many more suicide-victims have come in?" Jessie wondered, cutting Dean off before he could reply.

"Three others besides Jackson—Trenton Pyre, blew his brains out with a shotgun, Brandon Jones, drowned himself in his bathtub, and Peter Renner, who microwaved his head. In that order," Perry elaborated.

"Four suicides, all within two months, all with the same burn on their palms, maybe there is a case here," Jessie wondered aloud, as her and Dean walked out to the Impala.

"Yeah, I'll call Sammy and tell him to look into the other victims," the Winchester said, opening his phone. "Sam, hey…you need to like into three other men named: Trenton Pyre, Brandon Jones, and Peter Renner. Yeah, the doctor said they all committed suicide and they all had the same burn on their right hand."

"Sure thing, Dean, Jessie's still alive, right? You haven't killed her yet?" Sam asked.

"Nope, still up and kicking," Jessie said, putting her ear up to Dean's phone. Pulling away from her, Dean climbed into the driver's seat. Jessie took shotgun.

"So, you guys heading back here or…are you going to spend more quality time together?" Sam asked. Dean could hear him smiling through the phone.

"Dude, shut up."

"I think that's a fair question. You obviously find her attractive, since when are you Mr. Nice Guy to somebody to, not only drove your car without permission, but stole it for a whole week?" Sam laughed.

"Sammy."

"Yes, Dean?"

"Goodbye," Dean shut the phone and threw in into the center console. He looked over at Jessie, who was tugging her skirt off. "Whoa, whoa, don't you want a drink first?"

"Ha ha, turn around," Jessie scowled. Dean couldn't help but grin as he turned his head to look out the window. When he was allowed to turn around, Jessie had changed into jeans and a Black Sabbath t-shirt. "I hate skirts," Jessie said as if that explained everything. "Where to now?" Just then, her stomach growled loudly, reminding the two of them that they hadn't eaten since last night.

"Lunch, I guess," Dean replied, throwing the Impala into drive.


	8. Sweet Love of Mine

_"No more Mister Nice Guy! No more Mister Glee-e-e-e!"_

Dean tapped his foot to the popular Alice Cooper song while he chow downed on his double bacon cheeseburger. He had to admit it was a good thing Jessie was from around here because she was able to a local diner with great burgers. The rest of the diner was pretty much empty expect for an elderly couple sharing lunch in the corner. The Winchester went to reach for a handful of fries but Jessie smacked his hand.

"What was that for?" he demanded through a mouthful of beef. Jessie raised a finger, motioning for him to wait, before waving down the waitress.

"Excuse me, can I have a thing of Old Bay?" she asked.

"Sure thing," the waitress complied and disappeared into the back.

"What the hell is Old Bay?" Dean wondered.

"Trust me, you'll love it," Jessie answered, taking a bite of her burger. The waitress returned with a small cup filled with red powder. Without waiting for permission, Jessie dumped half the contents on Dean's fries and then her own. Dean stared at his fries, curiously. "Go ahead," Jessie announced, biting one of her fries. Hesitantly, Dean grabbed one of the powdered covered fries and chewed it. His eyes grew wide.

"Oh my god—that's delicious," he admitted, shoving a handful into his mouth. "How come I never heard of this before?"

"It's a Maryland thing, although some parts of Virginia has it too," Jessie explained, finishing her burger. The Alice Cooper song ended and was replaced by Guns N' Roses "Sweet Child O Mine." "I love this song!" Jessie grinned.

_"She's got a smile that it seems to me, reminds me of childhood memories where everything was fresh as the bright blue sky. Now and then when I see her face she takes me away to that special place and if I'd stare too long I'd probably break down and cry-y," _she sang_._ Upon hearing the song, the elderly man stood up and held out his hand to his wife, who took it gladly. "_Whoa-whoa-whoa_, _sweet child O mine. Whoa-oh-oh-oh, sweet love of mine_." The elderly couple started to slow dance around the empty diner. After swinging their hips for a few seconds, the elderly man slipped away from his wife and asked Jessie to dance, while the woman asked Dean; they couldn't say no. The elderly couple spun Dean and Jessie closer together, and then took their partner, leaving Jessie and Dean to grab onto each other.

In good fun, Dean sang the second part, "_She's got eyes of the bluest skies as if they thought of rain. I hate to look into those eyes and see an ounce of pain. Her hair reminds me of a warm safe place, where as a child I'd hide and pray for the thunder and the rain to quietly pass me by_." Jessie smiled and looked down at her feet before staring at Dean's face, her blue eyes sparkling. _"Whoa-whoa-whoa, sweet child O mine. Whoa-oh-oh-oh, sweet love of mine_," Dean finished. The song quickly finished and Jessie coughed, breaking away from Dean as she dusted herself off.

"Thank you, we normally don't find youngsters willing to dance with us," the elderly man laughed.

"Our pleasure, what better way to appreciate great music?" Dean said, straightening his clothes.

"It was our wedding song—we weren't the average conventional couple," the woman smiled. "So how long have you two been together?"

"Uh-we? No," Jessie stammered quickly.

"We're not dating," Dean interjected.

"Of course not," the woman grinned, her smile never faltering. "I want a wedding invite," she joked as her and her husband left the diner, leaving Jessie and Dean with their jaws on the ground.

"Would you two like the check?" the waitress asked, appearing around the corner.

"Yes," the two of them said at the same time, avoiding eye-contact.

They rode back to the motel in silence. Dean had shut off the radio after Aerosmith's "I Don't Wanna Miss A Thing" began playing. As soon as they entered the door, Sam slammed them with information.

"High school, they all went to high school together," he announced.

"Who?" Jessie asked.

"The victims, Pyre was the head football star, Jones was into the art department, Renner was a druggie, Jackson was head of the mathletes," Sam elaborated.

"So we got the breakfast club, find anything else?" Dean wondered, throwing his jacket onto the bed, along with his car keys.

"Yeah, get this—they were all questioned in the death of another student." Sam grinned.

"Let me guess, the death was ruled as a suicide?" Jessie pieced together. Sam nodded, closing his laptop.

"Great, do we know who this student was?" Dean demanded. That's when Sam's face dropped.

"I haven't figured it out yet," he said, sitting back down on the couch.

"Well, at least we have a lead," Jessie shrugged, vanishing into the bathroom. She passed Dean, who didn't look at her.

When she was in the bathroom, Sam asked, "What happened?"

"What do you mean?" Dean countered.

"You two haven't looked at each other since you walked into the room," Sam noted.

"Nothing happened between Jessie and I," the older Winchester said slowly, rolling his eyes.

"Then why can't you say her name without smiling?"

"Man, shut up."


	9. The Pool Game

"So the suicide that these men were questioned was a girl named Marilyn Moore?" Jessie asked, chowing down on a powdered doughnut. After she went to bed, Dean choose to sleep on the couch again, Sam had decided to do some more research and in the morning Jessie walked to the small convenience store to buy a variety pack of doughnuts; powdered were her favorites.

"Yeah, police report said she was found, hanging, in the training house behind the school. Authorities first suspected foul play, but stopped investigations when the discovery of suicide note was found in her bedroom," Sam recited, reading his screen and reaching for a plain doughnut.

"You think she's our vengeful spirit?" Dean wondered, finishing his third chocolate doughnut.

"Seems like it, she's the only connection all our victims have," the younger Winchester explained. "If you guys want to go back to the morgue to look into Marilyn Moore's death, I'll go the police station and see if I can find out who else was questioned in her death."

"Does that mean I have to put on those heels again? They kill my feet," Jessie moaned.

"Yes, unless you want to stay here," Dean suggested.

"I'm good with the whole staying here aspect," she grinned.

"No, you guys went together last time, you need to go together again," Sam argued. Dean could tell his brother was lying and only trying to get him and Jessie alone, but he doubted Jessie could see that. Grabbing his jacket from the couch, Dean glared at Sam.

"Fine, I'll go change," Jessie sighed, ducking into the bathroom. As soon as she closed the door, Dean threw his jacket at his brother's face.

"Omph!" Sam shout was muffled by the old leather.

"What was that about?" Dean growled through his teeth, making sure his voice didn't get too loud.

"You'll thank me later," Sam grinned. Jessie reemerged from the bathroom in the tight pencil skirt and white collared shirt, holding her other clothes in her hand. Sam took it as an opportunity to change into his suit as well, locking the bathroom door behind him. Dean tried hard not to stare as Jessie bent over to put her clothes into her bag, stretching the fabric of the skirt. Jessie caught him out of the corner of her eye.

"I'm pretty sure the death report isn't printed on my ass, staring at it isn't going to give you the answers," she smirked. Dean began to choke on his doughnut.

"Son of a bitch," he coughed into his fist. Jessie giggled at his pain. Sam walked into the room donning his suit; Dean pushed past his brother and nearly slammed the door on his back.

"I miss something?" Sam asked.

"Nothing you probably haven't seen him do before," Jessie sighed, running a brush through her hair.

After an awkward car ride with forced small talk by Sam, Dean was happy to drop him off at the police station, but felt a little uneasy about being alone with Jessie; frankly, Dean didn't trust himself. They arrived at the morgue and were immediately waved in by the secretary, who remembered them from yesterday. Jessie caught on to Dean's silence.

"You okay?" she asked, her heels clicking against the tiled floor.

"Huh? Oh—yeah, we just have a job to do and—uh…" Dean's voice trailed off.

"And—uh…what?"

"And—uh, I just remembered we never had that game of pool you promised me," he said quickly, cursing his mind for not thinking of anything better. Jessie smiled, folding her hands in front of her as she walked.

"Well, then, when we finish this job we can have that game," she announced. Dean was, admittedly, overtaken by shock. He thought she'd come back with a smart-ass response. "Oh, and I promise not to steal your car this time." And there is was.

"Jett, Heitfield, what are you doing here?" Perry asked, adjusting his glasses.

"We just need the medical report of a suicide a few years ago," Jessie said in a steady tone.

"Why?" Perry wondered.

"Our superior officers are out of their minds. Her name is Marilyn Moore," Dean explained. Perry nodded in understanding.

"One moment," he said, vanishing into one of the back rooms. Jessie tapped her foot until he returned. "Here you go," Perry announced, handing Dean the folder. "It was a questionable suicide, police questioned a few of the kids back then but they ruled it a suicide after they found a suicide note," he elaborated, confirming what they knew. Dean flipped through the report and paused.

"Who was the doctor who examined the body?" he asked.

"Whoever was here before me, why?"

"It says here that Moore had a burn on her left hand, across her palm," Dean said, passing the report to Jessie. Perry glanced at the paper and quickly read it upside down.

"I guess it does," he shrugged. "Well, I hope that helps you guys. I have work to do."

"Yeah, so do we," Jessie announced, staring at the report.

Sam climbed into the backseat seeing that Jessie occupied the passenger seat.

"You were right, Sammy. Seems like Marilyn is our ghost," Dean said almost immediantly, tossing the file into the backseat. Sam didn't react fast enough and the papers flew everywhere. Sighing, he picked up the papers, not caring about the order. "You get your job done?"

"Yeah, and I know who she's going after next," Sam countered. "There was only one other man questioned in her death. A guy named Derek Hayes."

"Son of a bitch," Jessie sighed.

"What?" the Winchesters asked in unison.

"He's my father."


	10. DaddyDearest

"Are you sure he's here?" Dean asked. The Impala sat idle in the parking lot of the bar that Jessie had led them to.

"Knowing my father—yes," she sighed. Dean started to open by the door, but Jessie caught his arm. "No. Let me go in first, there are some things me and daddy-dearest need to hash out," she explained with a cold expression. Dean looked from the bar to Jessie, then back to the bar.

"Fine, but you have five minutes," he said.

"Still don't trust me alone?" she wondered, giving him a small smile.

"Not in the slightest."

* * *

(It was being stupid and not letting me space it out. Sorry.)

Derek Hayes was sitting exactly where Jessie had guessed; the far right seat at the bar, drinking a large pint of cold beer. She wasn't exactly how much her father had to drink that night, but she knew it was a lot. Her father was never sober. Taking long strides, Jessie made her way up to him.

Before she even opened her mouth, he greeted her with, "Aren't you supposed to be dead?"

"Now isn't that pot calling the kettle black," she snarled, standing behind the seat to his left.

"Why are you here?" Derek demanded, not even looking at her.

"Marilyn Moore. You were questioned in her death back in high school and we have reason to think she's the one behind the recent 'suicides' of your classmates," Jessie explained, tapping her foot impatiently on the ground.

"And let me guess, you're here to 'protect' me," he said with a condescending tone.

"No, I'm here to find out why she wants you dead. I could care less what happens to you," Jessie growled.

"You don't really mean that," Derek purred.

"I do," she snapped. Her father placed his beer on the counter and turned to face her for the first time in several years. Their same blue eyes met with a cold glare.

"Going for three family members dead on your watch? Let me alert Guinness," he smiled a drunken grin. Jessie didn't even think before her fist slammed into his chin, knocking him off his chair. She grabbed a fistful of his shirt and slammed him into the wall. The rest of the bar disappeared; she could only see her father. In her mind, he was waving a red flag and she was the bull.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't let that bitch kill you? Huh? You probably killed her, just like Mom and Grace," Jessie spat through her teeth.

"Don't push that blame on me, kid. We both know it's your fault that their six feet under. I wasn't even around," Derek laughed. Jessie kneed her father in the stomach, and then threw him to the ground.

"Exactly! Maybe if you were around, then they would be alive!" she screeched.

"Maybe if you were stronger—" Derek didn't even get to finish his sentence before Jessie jumped on him. She got in a few good punched before her father gained the upper hand and rolled on top of her. He nailed her in the cheek before someone tackled him off of her.

"Don't you dare hit her again!" Dean shouted, pounding his fist into Derek's face. Sam helped Jessie to her feet; the sore spot on her cheek was definitely going to bruise.

"That's enough," the younger Winchester said, pulling his brother off Jessie's father, who moaned in pain.

"You said my father was the last one they questioned in Moore's death, right?" Jessie asked Sam, who nodded. "Then, let's go. There's more deserving people to be saved," she added, spinning on her heels to leave the bar.

"Don't think we're not in the same boat, kid. You're just as much responsible for what happened that day as I am," Derek shouted. Jessie just kept walking, tears threatening to spill over.


	11. Reasons

Dean walked through the door, tossing the bag with the empty gas can onto the floor. After the fight at the bar, he had dropped Jessie off at the motel, leaving Sam with her in case she tried to do anything rash, and went to go burn Marilyn Moore's corpse. In the motel room, the younger Winchester sat on the couch, staring at the blank TV; Jessie was nowhere in sight.

"Where is she?" Dean asked, stripping off his jacket.

"Bathroom, she's been in there ever since you left," Sam answered with a sad puppy dog face. Walking to the bathroom door, Dean knocked three times.

"Jessie?" he called. Behind the door, he heard her shuffling around before unlocking the door. She opened it slightly, not enough for Dean to push his way through.

"What?" Jessie growled. Dean had expected to see tears and runny make-up, but instead he saw a cold stare and dry-cheeks; the left one was purple and slightly swollen.

"You okay?" he wondered. Jessie rolled her eyes, stomping her foot on the ground.

"I swear if one more person asks if I'm okay, I'm going to shoot someone," she threatened, shoving Dean out of her way. She stormed over to the bed and began throwing her clothes into her bag.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked, moving to stand behind her.

"Case is over. I'm out," she explained, zipping her book bag shut and spinning around to face Dean.

"Whoa, you're not going anywhere," he said, blocking her exit.

"Why not?"

"Because obviously you're upset about earlier and acting before you think," he announced. Despite the tension in the room, Sam chuckled as the words escaped his brother's lips and was answered with an evil glare. "Look," Dean sighed, turning back to Jessie. "Just stay one more night and if you still want to leave in the morning, I'll drive you wherever you want."

Jessie crossed her arms and looked between him and Sam, before sighing, "Fine. " She turned her back to put her bag back on the ground. While her back was turned, Dean made a silent motion for Sam to leave.

"I-I'm going to grab something from the lobby," the younger Winchester said, jumping to his feet. When the door closed behind him, Dean crossed his arms and leaned against the door.

"You want to explain what happened at the bar?" he demanded. Jessie spun around to face him.

"Irreconcilable differences," she said blankly.

"Yeah, I bet," Dean sighed, watching Jessie move to sit on the couch. "Differences that are so irreconcilable that it breaks a Guinness record?" he added in a quizzical tone, sitting down on the chair. Jessie's face dropped and Dean couldn't tell if she was angry or shocked.

"You heard that entire conversation didn't you?" she said in a monotone voice. Dean nodded. He barely had time to react before the pillow hit his face. "You son of a bitch, you said I had five minutes! You weren't supposed to hear any of that!" Jessie jumped to her feet and started to head for the door, but Dean caught her arm. She went to smack him, but he caught that arm as well. Struggling was useless, Dean was stronger than she was, but she tried anyway. "Let me go!"

"Not until you calm down!" Dean shouted over her. Letting her arms fall to her side, Jessie waited for Dean to let go.

"So you heard everything about my mother and sister," she asked. Dean nodded, solemnly. "And how I'm supposed to be dead?" He nodded again. Jessie sighed and sat down on the end of the bed, wrapping her arms around her. "I guess we all have our reasons for becoming hunters," she whispered. Something told Dean it was going to be a long story.

* * *

Sorry about the short chapters lately, been really busy. Next one will be jampacked though as you get to learn more about Jessie. Thanks for all the followers, favorites, and reviews! I really appreciate them!


	12. Tainted Memories

"My father was an abusive drunk, but a damn good hunter. We all knew about his 'job' which made the nights harder, but…tch…that particular night was just Hell…" Jessie sighed, staring at nothing. "Dad was off on a hunting trip, as usual, and I was just tucking Grace into bed…"

* * *

"Are you sure you checked under the bed?" Grace wondered, pulling the covers up to her chin. Her damp, blonde hair sprawled across the white pillow.

"Yes, and the closet and made sure the window is locked and salted," 16-year-old Jessie sighed, sitting on the edge of her sister's bed. "You're 14 years old, it's time to stop being afraid of the dark. You didn't do this when you were 9."

"That was before I learned the monsters are actually real," Grace whined and giving the pout she always gave when her sister brought up her childish fear.

"I'll give you that," Jessie smiled as she leaned over to give her sister a kiss on the forehead. "Go to sleep," she added going to leave, but her sister caught her hand.

"Sing, please?" Grace asked. Jessie sat back down on the bed. "The one that Mom use to sing, before…you know…"

_Before she lost her mind_, Jessie finished in her head. "Sure," she said aloud. Jessie cleared her throat and tried to remember the words. _"Just close your eyes, the sun is going down. You'll be alright; no one can hurt you now. Come morning light, you and I'll be safe and sound."_ Grace smiled, snuggling beneath her covers.

"Thanks Jess," she breathed, closing her eyes. Jessie nodded and exited the room, making sure to close the door behind her. She didn't know why the song made her sister feel better, but it did. Walking out into the kitchen, Jessie saw her mother staring mindlessly out the kitchen window.

"Mom, he's not coming back to night. You have to go to bed," Jessie sighed, placing a hand on her mother's shoulder. Jumping, her mother spun around; it was obvious she had been crying.

"No, no, he might. He-he," she sputtered. Jessie exhaled and adjusted so she supported her mother's weight, carrying her to the bedroom. Ever since their father had dropped the bomb about demons, it seemed as if her mother had vanished. The sweet, caring woman Jessie had known was replaced by someone who could barely support herself. Gently putting her mother to bed, Jessie found herself staring out the kitchen window just has her mother had a few moments earlier. Mentally, she cursed her father for everything he had done. They used to be a happy family, minus the loving dad, but she could deal with that. She had received the normal childhood where monsters were a myth, then, one day, her father comes home and ruins Grace's chances at that. Jessie took one final look outside at the road, wondering if her father would ever come back.

* * *

"…and I went to bed," Jessie whispered. She blinked back tears and bit her lower lip. "I awoke to Grace screaming…"

* * *

"Jessie!"

Springing from her bed, loaded gun in hand, Jessie raced down the hallway and into her sister's room. Grace laid, pin beneath a large panther-like animal, which had its teeth inches away from her neck. Without thinking, Jessie pulled the trigger, firing two shots into the animal's back. The animal turned around and sneered before pouncing at her. Unable to react, Jessie was thrown against the wall as the beast dug its claws into her shoulder.

"Grace, run!" Jessie shouted, using her shotgun to keep the animal's sharp teeth away from her face. She saw her sister escape past them and was now able to turn her attention fully to the beast attacking her. Jessie kicked the beast, hard, in its abdominal area. It howled, distracted by the pain just long enough for Jessie to hit it in the jaw with the butt of the gun and squirm out from underneath of it. Slamming the door shut, Jessie was nearly knocked to the ground as the creature jumped at the door. Grabbing a chair, she leaned it underneath the knob, hoping it would hold for a little bit. "Grace!" Jessie yelled, bolting up the stairs.

"Here!" her sister called from the kitchen, with their mother at her side.

"Get out of here!" Jessie ordered. As soon as the words escaped her lips, the beast ran into the wall, scrambling up the split foyer. Within a second, it was behind Jessie and used its huge paw to swat her aside as if she was a fly. Jessie's head made contact with the cold, tile floor and her entire vision went dark.

* * *

"…I was knocked out…I wasn't able to protect them," Jessie breathed as long ragged breath.

"I'm sorry," Dean whispered. Determined not to let the dam break, Jessie roughly rubbed her eyes.

"Next thing I knew, Bobby was shaking me awake…"

* * *

"Kid, you still alive?" a gruff voice asked, gently shaking Jessie's uninjured shoulder. Blinking a couple times, Jessie opened her eyes to an old man in a baseball cap. "My names Bobby, you okay?"

"Grace, where's Grace?" she demanded, going to sit up before pain shot through her skull.

"I'm sorry," Bobby whispered.

_No, no, no!_Jessie thought, using all her strength to push the old man out of the way. The house was torn apart. Claw marks marred everything in sight. In the middle of the kitchen floor laid her family. Her sister's pretty blue eyes forever staring at nothing.

* * *

Dean placed a hand on her shoulder, causing Jessie to stop her story.

"I didn't know," he breathed. Jessie forced a smile on her face.

"That's okay, I don't really tell anyone. Not like talking will actually fix it," she choked out a fake laugh. Dean averted his eyes and leaned back in his seat. "Bobby got in contact with my father and told him I'd be at his place. My father arrived in two days. He busted through the door, drunk as usual, screaming, and 'I told you to protect them! I told you to protect them!' Bobby tried to calm him down, but he kept going. 'You killed them! Why do you get to live and they die! You killed my family!' He screamed until he passed out in a drunken stupor. The next morning, he left. But not without telling me I was dead to him," Jessie explained. Dean didn't know what to say. He opened his mouth to speak, but Jessie shook her head. "It's okay; you don't have to tell me anything. My father was right. I am the reason they're dead. If I was stronger, then they may be still alive," she added.

"You can't blame yourself," Dean explained.

"Look, I don't need your pity. It happened. If you really want to help me out, can you please leave? I'm about to start crying and I don't need you seeing that," Jessie asked, all emotion gone from her face. Dean nodded and slowly rose to his feet. He paused at the door, turning to face her.

"Your father is an ass," he said, before exiting the room.

"Tch," Jessie laughed as the tears began to flow.

* * *

**Sorry, I've had this wierd vertigo-thing the past few days where the room never stops spinning, but here it is. Yes, I used Taylor Swift's song, "Safe and Sound" as a lullaby. I may love the "mullet-rock" but that doesn't always come on the radio; sue me. I wouldn't let me space out the paragraphs again. If anyone as an answer to this problem, can you please write a review with it? I'll appreciate you forever.**


	13. A New Job

The next morning, Jessie awoke on the couch, wrapped in the large comforter off one of the beds. She quickly used it to wipe her damp cheeks before she looked around the room. Dean and Sam weren't in the room, but their beds said that they had come back and slept. Climbing to her feet, Jessie decided she was going to take a shower since there was no one else in the motel room.

"That must have been mentally scarring," Sam sighed after Dean summarized what Jessie told him last night.

"Yeah, but you can't say anything to her," Dean explained, struggling to carry the paper bag filled with a large salt-thing of salt, beer, and pie that he planned to eat for breakfast. He balanced the bag on his knee, using his free hand to open the door.

"Don't worry, dude," Sam said, answering his cell phone. "Hey, Bobby…" Dean placed the bag on the coffee table, empting the contents.

"Hey, I'm going to go to the bathroom. Don't touch my pie!" he ordered, sliding into the bathroom. Unzipping his pants, he began to relieve himself, letting out a long sigh. Dean didn't notice the running water until it was turned off and by then Jessie had poked her head out from around the shower curtain. They had three seconds of awkward eye contact before Jessie made this weird half-laugh/half-scream and closing the shower curtain. Dean rushed out of there as fast as he could, tripping over Jessie's clothes and falling to the floor in the process.

"Hold on, Bobby," Sam said, moving the phone to his chest. "Dude, what the hell?" he asked. Dean zipped up his pants and jumped to his feet. Sam's question was answered when Jessie appeared in the doorway in nothing but one of the motel towels.

"You have my clothes," she muttered, untangling a black lacy bra from Dean's boot. She quickly slammed the door behind her, leaving the boy's jaws on the ground.

"Sam? SAM!"

"Yeah, I'm here Bobby. You were saying…" Sam stuttered, returning to his conversation with Bobby. Dean gathered up the remaining pieces of his self-esteem and sat on the couch. He grabbed the pie and plastic fork to start digging into the golden crust. Jessie emerged from the bathroom wearing jeans and a Led Zeppelin shirt that fit her nicely. She plucked the pie and fork from Dean's hand and curled up against the opposite side of the couch.

"Don't steal my pie," he growled, snatching the pie back. Jessie stared him straight in the eye as she leaned over and took the pie again. "My pie," he repeated, reaching for the tin.

"No," Jessie said, putting a hand on his chest.

"Did you just say no?" Dean asked, utterly shocked.

"Shall I say it in Spanish? No," she repeated.

"Give me back my pie," Dean ordered, lunging for the dessert. Jessie rolled onto her back and placed a foot on his chest to keep him at bay. Sam, using his height to his advantage, grabbed the pie and threw it in the trash.

"Hey!" Dean and Jessie complained at the same time.

"We have a new job. Bobby called, we're heading to some place called Antietam," Sam explained.

"Sharpsburg," Jessie corrected.

"Hm?" Sam murmured.

"Antietam is a battlefield within the town of Sharpsburg. The battle of Antietam was the bloodiest, single-day battle of the Civil War," Jessie announced, jumping to her feet to pack her bags. "It's only about an hour and a half away."

"Good, enough time to get me more pie," Dean growled, smacking Sam on the back of the head.

"Hey, I thought you said that you would take me anywhere I wanted to go," Jessie reminded him. Dean spun around, nearly dropping his stuff on the ground.

"What?" he demanded.

"You said last night, that if I stayed, you'd drive me anywhere in the morning," Jessie elaborated. Dean's face dropped.

"But, I thought the fact that you—you were—I, um…" Dean's voice trailed off as he fought for words. He cleared his throat. "Where do you want to go?"

Jessie smiled, "Sharpsburg." She dangled the Impala's keys from her finger, and then turned to put her stuff in the car. Dean couldn't help but laugh, keeping his ears peeled for the rumbling of his baby's engine, ready to make a break for the door in case she decided to steal his car…again.

"You are away in over your head," Sam chuckled.

"What are you talking about?" Dean asked.

"Let me see: you danced, you gave up the bed for her, you share the same odd interest in mullet-rock, you practically saw her naked a few minutes ago—"

"Dude, there was a shower curtain."

"—you defended her in a fight, you fought over food—"

"Dean Winchester does not share food."

"—and she completely opened up about her past to you. It's all the starts to an emotional commitment, which is closer than you, got to any other girl," Sam explained. "I think, you like her, or at least, she likes you."

"I think, you're crazy," Dean said, throwing his bag over his shoulder.

"If you don't get your asses moving I'm leaving without you!" Jessie shouted from the parking lot.

"Hey, you are not driving my car!" Dean yelled back, exiting the room. Sam shook his head and followed his brother, who was definitely way in over his head.


	14. Promise

"So, did Bobby explain the case or what?" Dean asked as he closed the Impala's door and began walking towards the 'historical center' of the battle field. Antietam was a large expanse rolling hills, dotted with memorial plaques and statues.

"Apparently, there has been an uprising in reports of people seeing uniformed soldiers walking around town," Sam explained, taking in the scenery. Jessie sighed, walking a few feet behind the brothers; she took the time to stretch her legs.

"Isn't that normal around battlefields?" she wondered.

"Yeah, exactly why no one paid it any mind until a man, Jet Burke, went to the hospital after walking through the battlefield and had a lead ball surgically removed from his abdomen," Sam elaborated. "Doctors couldn't explain how it got there, but a second man was rushed to the hospital from the field after he was shot…by an invisible musket."

"Invisible?" Dean questioned.

"Yeah, no one heard a shot, nor saw the gun. All the witnesses say they saw was the man fall to the ground in pain and start bleeding. Doctors removed a lead ball from his knee," Sam finished.

"I hate battlefields, too many unmarked graves. How many people died in the battle?" Dean asked.

"The Union lost 12,410 men and the Confederacy lost 10,700 during the course of the 12 hour battle. The oldest was 64 year old, who had to lie about his age to be allowed to fight. The youngest was a 12 year old drummer boy. So in total, about 23,110 people dead," Jessie noted with a yawn. Dean stopped in his tracks to stare at her; Sam did the same. "What? I have a knack for remembering trivial things. You should see me play trivia against guys in bars, I wipe the floor with them," she laughed. "Besides, I've been here before. Over there—" she pointed to a long dirt path "—is Sunken Road, renamed Bloody Lane. Burnside Bridge—" she pointed in a different direction "—is over there. They shot a scene in 'Last of the Mohicans' off of it. The Pry House is somewhere around here…"

"Okay, the more you speak the more I feel like an idiot. Please stop," Dean asked, before turning around only to run into the small, preppy tour guide.

"Hi! Welcome to Antietam Battlefield! Home of the sight of the bloodiest single day battle in American history!" she smiled, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Her over-enthusiastic tone and large smile gave Dean the creeps.

"Hello…um…Nancy," Sam cut in, reading her nametag.

"Are you here for the tour?" she asked.

"My brother is, he loves tours. We're just dropping him off," Dean said, shoving his brother forward.

"Great, right this way," Nancy grinned, taking Sam's hand and dragging him off to the tour from Hell. Giving his brother a dirty look, Sam couldn't do anything except go along with it.

"Want to go check out the guy in the hospital?" Dean asked.

"Um…actually…you go, I'll just stay in the motel," Jessie said, forcing a laugh.

"Why?"

"No reason, you just might get more done without me there. Ha ha ha."

Dean crossed his arms and grinned, "You're afraid of the hospital?"

"At least I'm not afraid of flying," Jessie pouted.

"How'd you know I'm afraid of flying?"

"I drove your car around for a week, I know more about you than you think," she pointed out, bring up the fact that she stole his car a while ago.

"That's it. We're going to the hospital," Dean said, reaching for her arm.

"No!" Jessie argued, swatting away his hand.

"No?" Dean laughed. He grabbed her waist and threw her over his shoulder.

"Dean, put me down!" she shouted.

"We're going to the hospital," he said.

"Help! I'm being kidnapped!" Jessie screamed, grabbing people's attention.

"She's not being kidnapped; I'm just taking her to the doctors. Continue on your way," Dean explained to the people giving them strange glares, pushing Jessie into the backseat. "Quit being a baby," he whispered.

"I don't want to go to the doctors," Jessie whined.

"It's not for you, it to interview the guy who was shot," Dean argued, closing the door on her.

"Still involves me being in the building," Jessie mumbled to herself.

"If you manage to survive the hospital, I'll buy you as many drinks as you want and we can even play that pool game if you want," he compromised.

"Promise?" she asked with a sly smile.

"Promise," Deangrinned.


	15. The Question

"I can't believe you punched that doctor in the face," Dean laughed as he and Jessie entered the small town pub.

"It's not funny, I said I didn't like the hospital," Jessie said, smacking him in the arm. The interview with the victim didn't get them very far; all the man could remember was walking along with his daughter, then excruciating pain. They even took a trip to the local police station and they had no leads on the "mystery-shooter," not that Dean had expected them to have one. Sam had a pretty busy day with the talkative guide and had declined the invitation for drinks, saying he had research to do. "Ooh, they have a pool table. Perfect. You get the drinks," Jessie ordered, heading towards the game.

"W-wait, what do you drink?" Dean asked. Jessie gave him a confused look.

"What do you mean?"

"Margarita, gin and tonic?"

"Do I look like a slutty, school girl? Beer, please," Jessie sighed, swaying her hips back and forth. Dean smiled and ordered her beer, unfortunately Jessie had announced him as the designated driver for that night, as she cleared people away from the table. She racked the balls and awaited her drink. When he returned, she traded him her drink for a pool stick. "You break," Jessie ordered, tossing him the white ball.

"Shouldn't we bet something?" Dean grinned.

Jessie swallowed her drink and replied, "Oh, that wouldn't be fair. I'd win."

"20 bucks," Dean laughed, showing the money. Jessie rolled her eyes.

"You're on."

As predicted, Jessie won the first game and used the 20 dollars to buy her, and a few other girls, another round of drinks. Dean pushed for double-or-nothing Jessie complied. Between the witty banter passed between them and the giggling from Jessie's newfound friends, it seemed they had attracted the attention of the entire bar. Taking sides, it seemed most of them counted on Jessie winning.

"Why don't you guys have any trust in me?" Dean asked the strangers around him.

"Because you don't have boobs!" someone in the crowd called out, causing the entire building to erupt in laughter.

"True that! Watch and learn, boy," Jessie grinned. She leaned over the table and lined up her shot. Against his will, Dean's eyes examined the contours of her body, just like the first time he met her. "Ha!" Jessie shouted, jumping to her feet. Apparently she had sunk her last stripped ball and was ready to move onto the eight ball. "You're move," she purred. Dean grinned at her, moving to the table. A quick survey of the table showed him that he could sink his last ball and the eight ball in one shot, which meant a win for him. He bent over and lined up the shot. Jessie saw that he could easily sink it, but she always had a backup plan. "Oh, Dean," she called. Dean glanced up from his shot and his eyes nearly popped out of his head. Jessie was leaned over, so she was at eye level, with her shirt dangling so that Dean could see all the way to the top of her jeans. Flustered, Dean missed the shot.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered.

"Don't worry, maybe next time," Jessie laughed, sliding past him to sink the eight ball. "I win," she announced. "Pay up."

"You cheated," Dean pointed out.

"It wasn't my fault your eyes were elsewhere," she sighed, rolling her eyes. "But, I suppose you don't have to pay me if you're that much of a sore loser." Dean mumbled under his breath and paid up the 20 dollars. "Thank you," Jessie curtsied. Checking the time, she finished the last of her beer. "We should get going. Wouldn't want Sammy to worry," she said, grabbing her purse. Normally, Dean would complain that only he could call his brother Sammy, but for some reason, he was okay with it. He followed Jessie out the door. Without thinking, he stripped off his father's jacket and handed it to her. "What's this for?" Jessie asked, holding it away from her body.

"It's cold out," Dean explained, climbing into the driver's seat. Jessie laughed and threw the jacket over her shoulders; the heavy leather weighing her down, she took the passenger seat. When the engine started up, "Heaven" by Bryan Adams was on the radio. Dean went to change it, but Jessie smacked his hand away.

"I love this song," she giggled.

"Really? The same person who loves Motorhead, loves this cheesy song?" Dean joked.

"Shut up, this is a classic," Jessie countered. _"Baby you're all that I want, when you're lying here in my arms. I'm finding it hard to believe, we're in heaven. And love is all that I need and I found it there in your heart. It isn't too hard to see, we're in heaven_," Jessie sang, slightly off key.

"Enough of this," Dean laughed, changing the station. Jessie pouted until she heard it was "Sweet Child O Mine," then she forced Dean to sing with her and he did.

_"She's got eyes of the bluest skies!" _Jessie grinned. Eventually, her voice faded out, leaving Dean his very own solo.

_"Whoa-oh-oh, sweet love of mine_," he finished. Glancing over at Jessie, he saw her curled up in the seat, sleeping. He smiled to himself and wondered if he really was falling her, but that wasn't really the question. That one he knew the answer to. The true question was whether she would fall for him.


	16. Round and Round

_"Love will find a way, just give it time!"_ Ratt's hit song, Round and Round, blasted through the radio, signaling that the wake-up alarm was going off. Jessie moaned and buried her face in what she thought was a pillow; it was actually Dean's shoulder, but she didn't know that. The two of them had gotten back from the bar only to resume their party, this time with Dean joining in on the drinking, and ignoring Sam's complaints of the music being too loud. Dean grumbled at the sound of the alarm, reaching over to shut it off. He forgot he was on the couch, underneath of Jessie, and when he stretched his arm over her, he slid off the couch; unfortunately, Jessie fell too. When the weight of Dean's body crushed the breath out of Jessie, she awoke with a start and immediately started flailing her arms.

"Son of a bitch, get off of me!" she gasped. Dean stumbled to his feet, apologizing the entire time.

"Morning guys," Sam grinned from his seat on the coffee table. "Have fun last night?"

"What happened?" Jessie wondered, picking herself off the ground, waving off Dean's helping hand.

"Before or after you two starting tearing at each other's clothes?" Sam asked. Dean's and Jessie's eyes nearly popped out of their heads. "Kidding, you both drank a whole six-pack before passing out on the couch," the younger Winchester explained with a smile.

"You suck," Jessie complained, stumbling to the bathroom to nurse her hangover. When she was gone, Dean punched his brother in the arm.

"Not funny, dude," he growled.

"Whatever, man," Sam laughed. "So, while you were killing your livers I was doing research. Apparently, Dad took a trip through Maryland a while back and ran into a similar case."

"But if Dad had the case, that meant he burnt whoever was doing it," Dean countered, taking it upon himself to pick up the empty beer bottles and throw them in the trash.

"He did, burnt the body of a Michael Jonathon," Sam sighed.

"So we're back at square one?"

"Not necessarily. He might not have burned everything. Ghosts have the ability to attach itself to a certain possession it might have carried around and they a bunch of shit in the museum," Jessie called from the bathroom, followed shortly by an, "I'm never going to drink again."

"So, what, we burn down the whole building?" Dean asked.

"I'm up for that," Jessie joked. "Oh God."

"I'll go back to the battlefield, check out the artifacts, and you can stay here and get this place cleaned up," Sam announced, pointing to the trashed room. It looked like a college fraternity decided to throw a end-of-the-year party and left the aftermath.

"Sure, you go do the job and I'll just play maid," Dean mumbled. Sam glanced between the bathroom door and Dean.

"Just don't let her drink anymore," Sam grinned before stealing Dean's keys and walking out of the motel room.

* * *

**So much homework! Decided to type this out in the short 15 minute break I had. Sorry it's short.**


	17. Smile

"You know I have a great hangover remedy," Dean called into the bathroom. Jessie still had her head resting against the wall next to the toilet, trying to find the strength to brush her teeth.

"If it's a greasy pork sandwich in a dirty ash tray, don't bother," she sighed, climbing to her feet. Dean could hear her run the water as he finished picking up the empty bottles. "So Sam left us to clean up?" Jessie wondered, leaning against the doorframe, toothbrush in her mouth.

"Yeah, you can make the beds," Dean told her, placing the throw pillows on the couch.

"Kay," she replied, rinsing her mouth. Jessie quickly fixed the comforters and tossed one of the pillows into the air, catching it. "Hey, Dean?" she asked.

"Yeah—hmph!" he was knocked backwards by the force of the pillow, even though it didn't hurt. Jessie stood next to the bed, giggling. "You wanna dance? Let's dance," Dean laughed, throwing the pillow back. Jessie quickly ducked out of the way, jumping onto the bed to grab another weapon. She turned to Dean and smacked him outside the head. Dean scrambled onto the other bed, pillow in hand. Bouncing on the mattress, he swung the pillow, hitting Jessie in the shoulder. Jessie leapt onto Dean's bed and knocked the pillow out of his hands, leaving him defenseless.

"Gotcha!" she laughed, hitting him in the face. Dean pushed the pillow away and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her to the ground with him. He landed on the bottom with Jessie on his chest; both giggling like idiots. Jessie rested her chin on her hands. "You should do that more often," she announced.

"What?" Dean asked, confused.

"Smile, it suites you," Jessie admitted.

"I smile," Dean countered, with a cheesy look and a grin. Jessie smacked him lightly.

"Not that, a real smile. Not the one you give when you're trying to sweet talk a woman or acting like you're okay," she explained, resting her hands on his chest. "My mother used to tell me: The Angels are smiling over me every day, so I needed to smile back."

"Is that why you smile all the time?" Dean asked.

"I don't smile all the time; I guess I do it a lot more than most hunters, but why am I defending myself? I smile, so what?" Jessie scoffed with a smile. Dean held his hands up in defeat.

"I didn't ask you to defend yourself," he replied, not sure where to place his hands, so he settled for behind his heads. "I actually like the fact that you smile a lot," he whispered. "It's cute." Jessie titled her head to one side.

"Was I just called cute by the great, badass Dean Winchester?" she asked. Dean's mind went blank. All the pick-up lines and smooth words he had collected over the years abandoned him.

"I-I d-didn't, um…" he stuttered.

"That's okay, I think you're pretty cute to," Jessie grinned. Dean felt like someone lit a match in his chest and a smile crept onto his face. "The cute that every other girl wanted back in high school."

"Every other girl?" Dean asked, feeling his heart drop.

"I wasn't really ever into that stuff; relationships never work out for me. A husband and kids seems like it'd be too much. I mean, look how well it ended up for our families," Jessie explained. Dean's smile faded. Out of all the girls he had met that wanted a relationship, a simple apple pie life, the one he finally thought he might want to have that with didn't want it. But, she was right. No hunter ever settled down with a family without it turning to Hell on Earth.

Sam walked back into the room, to retrieve his cell phone he had forgotten on the coffee table, and saw Dean laying on his bed with Jessie on top of him. They stared at him; Jessie curious and Dean shocked.

"Um, I'll be leaving in a sec, and then you can continue whatever…can you move it to your own bed?" Sam questioned, quickly grabbing his phone. Jessie rolled off of Dean and to her feet, fixing her hair out of habit. Dean jumped to meet his brother at the door.

"We're done cleaning, don't you want backup or something?" he asked. Sam has never seen his brother nervous. He didn't understand why his brother didn't make a move yet.

"It's a simple salt and burn; I think I can handle it. You two can take the day off. There's a carnival set up right outside town," the younger Winchester grinned, handing his brother the keys to the Impala. "I'll take a cab." Dean looked at his brother like he had three heads. "Don't screw it up," Sam whispered before walking out to the street and hailing a taxi.

"I haven't been to a carnival since I was a kid," Jessie laughed. Dean sighed. It looked like he was going to the carnival.

* * *

**Okay, I know there is no cabs in Sharpsburg, but I don't think you guys would mind with that little improv. I have this headcannon that Dean, even though he his a player, gets really nervous around girls he truly likes. I'm sort of losing the idea I had for the major plot, so the next few updates will be Dean and Jessie finally hooking up (I know so much tension) and fluffy goodness. :) Thanks for all the reviews and followers though, I appreciate it!**


	18. Cotton Candy

"Dean, I don't need a stuffed animal. Just let it go," Jessie said for the sixth time. They had yet to be in the carnival for more then 10 minutes and Dean was already caught up in one of the games; the one where you had to knock over the milk bottles, to be exact.

"It's personal now," Dean announced, laying down another dollar. The young teenager who was running the booth just grinned and took his money. Picking up one of the three baseballs, Dean took aim and horribly missed the pyramid, he ended up hitting a Shrek in the head instead. Jessie placed a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. Dean growled and pitched the second ball, narrowly missing the milk bottles. "Son of a bitch," he growled under his breath. He reached for the remaining baseball, but Jessie snatched it away from him.

"Move," she ordered, booty-bumping him out of the way. She drew her arm back and launched the baseball towards the bottles, knocking them all to the ground. The teenager snickered. Jessie turned towards Dean, who had his arms crossed over his chest.

"Lucky shot," he shrugged.

"Softball for eight years," Jessie explained. She pointed to the oversized stuffed dog plushie and the teenager retrieved it for her. "Alright, how bout we try something with less skill involved," she laughed, glancing the cotton candy cart.

"Sure," Dean said pulling out his wallet to pay.

"It's okay, I got this one," Jessie said, beating him to it. She exchanged a five dollar bill for a large bag of the sugary treat.

"I don't like it when women pay," Dean announced, opening the bag for her.

"Aw, my knight in shining armor. Relax, it's not like its a date or anything," Jessie sighed, before stuffing the colored sugar into her mouth. "Mm—I wuv dis muff!" Dean took a deep breath. He was about to speak up and tell her he wanted it to be a date, but she cut him off. "Rides!" she shouted, hurrying to stand in a line, tickets already in hand. "Dean, come on!" Dean jogged along and handed the tickets to the guy before he was ushered into a small cart with Jessie nearly sitting in his lap because the toy took up her seat.

"Close enough for you?" Dean asked. Jessie rolled her eyes and the ride began. The cart began to move slowly, apparently it wasn't the thrill ride Jessie had thought. She stuck out her lower lip, pouting. "Hey, cheer up. Eat some cotton candy," Dean said, shoving a little bit into her face. Jessie scrunched up her nose, then opened her mouth to eat it, making sure to nip his fingers. "Hey, be nice." Jessie stuck out her tongue in retaliation. Without thought, Dean leaned in and brushed their lips together. When he realized what he did, he immediately jumped back and slammed his back against the metal cart. The pain caused his to shout out. Jessie started at him, her blue eyes wide.

"Did you just kiss me?" she asked. Dean scratched the back of his head, struggling for words and Dean Winchester never struggled for words.

"Um...I-I, sorry...uh." The ride ended and Dean jumped out of the ride, walking off, leaving Jessie in the cart. _Shit, shit, shit_. _Son of a bitch_, he repeated over his head.

"Dean!" Jessie shouted, rushing after him. "Dean!" When he didn't turn around, Jessie screamed, "ASSHOLE!" causing the entire carnival to freeze. Dean spun around, trying to shrink himself. Jessie slammed into him, her hands grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him down to eye level. Her blue eyes met his green for a split second before her lips crushed against his. Dean's first reaction was to stumble backwards but Jessie held him in place. She tasted like cotton candy. Breaking away, Jessie stared at the ground.

"Jessie?" he asked. She glanced up at him.

"Must you cheapen the moment?" Jessie laughed, recognizing the look on his face. Dean moved in for another kiss; this time each of them contributed.

"You know, I never thought I'd would be saying this," Dean said, placing his forehead on hers. "But, I'm glad you stole my car."

"Good, then you don't mind if I drive," Jessie said, dangling his keys from her finger. She took off towards the Impala with Dean on her heels.

* * *

**So, I just wanted to finally finish this story. But I'm thinking of trying a rewrite. Same characters, same first meeting, but different plot or what not. **


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